


Routine

by Zulu_Victor - ZVA (vannja)



Series: theProjectAva's Emperor!Keith AU [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Emperor!Keith AU, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannja/pseuds/Zulu_Victor%20-%20ZVA
Summary: His early morning companion is guilt. Hate. Disgust.  But every now and then, he stumbles on a part of Shiro that lets him dream, lets him forget for a moment just how much he hates himself.





	Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, I've hit this AU hard and at-speed. Again, Inspired by the awesome [theprojectava](http://www.theprojectava.tumblr.com/)'s [Emperor!Keith AU](https://theprojectava.tumblr.com/post/169705330858/you-keep-what-you-kill-pt2-i-know-these-comics).
> 
> (also on tumblr [Here](https://zva-redink.tumblr.com/post/170878660012/routine).)
> 
> Enjoy all!

Keith blearily opened his eyes, the digital reading on the wall informing him it was still far to early to be awake. He turned to his side, looking at Shiro's face illuminated only by the red lights of the digital numbers and the pale lilac runners along the bottom of the walls, dimmed to match the night cycle. 

You’d think he’d be used to these mornings, after 5 years. 

Most of the time they tumbled into bed together, the Champion left long before he woke up (or left directly after he fell asleep, he didn’t quite have the balls to ask), but it happened often enough that he woke up before Shiro that he knew what was coming. It was almost routine, in fact. 

Routine, he found, was one of the best ways to keep a handle on the Champion. 

Refusing to meet the accusing numbers of the clock for just a few moments longer, he rolled back over to admire the broad lines that made up his bed-mate, softened in the peaceful darkness. He could forget about the Champion, for just a few moments, and simply look his fill of Shiro’s peaceful profile, mouth slightly parted in sleep, disturbing wisps of Keith’s hair with soft breaths where they were close on the shared pillow. Could look over long-memorised musculature to where the sheets pooled at Shiro’s waist and viscerally remember the power in those hips. Could let the memory of how that stomach had tensed and released for him just hours prior heat him to his very core. Could let some not-so-far-off galra part of himself preen and admire the scars, the strength and power they represented. 

Even if the Champion never seemed bothered that he couldn’t remember where a portion of his scars had come from; mostly the ones Keith remembered and wanted to worship for the acts of bravery that had been their cause. 

The warm feeling never lasted long in the mornings. 

Keith sat up with a sigh, looking at the numbers on the clock that counted down his warm feelings, leaving behind guilt and disgust like shrapnel lodged in his chest. Keith could lose himself in the nights they ended up hitting the sheets, running headlong into the passion like he was wont to do. Pretend for a moment that the pleasure at night was worth the pain of asking himself how much he was actually taking advantage of Shiro. 

If the Champion was simply doing what he thought was expected out of some programmed sense of duty. 

In five minutes, he’d get up. Get dressed and train. Sometimes it was Kolivan up, sometimes it was one of the other commanders. Demand a spar, push himself to the very limits of what he could take. The Champion would always show up at that point. Make sure that no one got the wise idea to try to kill the Emperor after a particularly grueling spar, until Keith was tired enough he could actually do his damn *job*. The Champion would become his shadow for the rest of the day. Like always. And maybe, at the end of the day, they would feel inspired to topple back into bed and *fuck* and Keith would get to do this all over *again*...

Hands on his back startled him, pulling him from his guilt and wallowing as they traced down his spine. 

He couldn’t remember a time where one of them had woken up before the other was out of the room. 

“You’re thinking.” Came the sleep-rough comment. “Very loudly.”

Keith couldn’t even look over his shoulder at the Champion, knowing in the soft light he would only see Shiro, and not willing to put himself through that just yet. “I wasn’t aware thinking made noise.”

The gentle tug to his shoulder threw him even more off guard, and he let the Champion pull him down onto his chest. Neither were much of post-coital cuddlers (though not for lack of dreaming), so the move set him even more on edge, leaving him to stare across the broad expanse of skin and scars as his brain attempted to compute. 

“‘S too early...go back to sleep.” was muttered into his hair. Keith let the other man’s breathing settle into his bones as Shiro fell back into sleep, the soft rise of a hard scarred chest carving out a matching spot in his own. Refusing to let the arm around his shoulders speak to some younger part of him that was alone in the desert for too long, wishing for nothing more then the feel of a strong bicep pressed against his shoulder and hard hands rubbing circles into the small of his back. Ignoring the way his heart rattled in his chest like nerves when an officer and cadet snuck into the flight sim in the middle of the night, high on adrenaline and something better left unnamed. 

Hands startled him a second time. This time brushing his cheek. 

He had no idea when the tears had started falling. 

The Champion rolled on top of him, hands braced on either side of Keith’s head before he could turn over, before he could *hide* or even start to glue his pieces back into place. The Champion tilted his head to the side in confusion, as if the wet spot over his heart was a binary star with nothing to orbit. “Are you injured.”

Keith took a shuddering breath, moving to sit up, to dislodge the Champion. “It’s nothing…” was probably the worst thing to say. Should have stuck with ‘I’m fine’ or ‘leave me alone’, or *something* strong enough that the Champion would just take at face-value. Instead, the Champion wouldn’t budge, and Keith was *strong* but he’d need some kind of leverage to move that much mass…

The Champion used that mass to his advantage, dropping his weight onto his elbows and forcing Keith’s back down into the sheets, lips pressing against his neck. “Shhhh…” was whispered against his noise of protest, pressed to his ear as a tongue traced down his pulse. He was expecting teeth, instead getting a soft sigh and press of lips against his ear. He was expecting hands grabbing and pulling, instead getting a soft roll of hips against his own. He was expecting to have snarls pressed to his moans, and instead got fingers softly tracing through his hair. 

He was falling apart at the seams. 

The Champion caught his hands where they had moved to hard planes of muscle and instead pressed them flat to the bed, an unspoken order he never thought he would have heard, but was more then willing to obey. The lips and tongue along his collar traced to his shoulder, paying special attention to Lotor’s parting gift, sucking softly on the raised skin. “Fuck…” Keith breathed, arching into the sensation. Normally, the Champion never lingered long enough to leave a mark unless expressly ordered to. 

It was like getting so used to being cold that even something lukewarm burned you. 

Keith was loving it, even as he turned to ash. 

It didn’t take long before Keith’s legs ended up around a powerful waist, body soft and pliant enough that his Champion could rock into him slowly, seeming content with the lethargic pace. It was different from all the other times, his Champion holding him like he was something precious, arms wrapping underneath his shoulders until his face was buried into a neck growing slick with sweat. Keith almost didn’t realize he was crying again, choked sobs mixing with pleasure around stuttered demands for more, harder, anything to get them back to less confusing territory where Keith only had to feel guilt. Wouldn’t feel like every time he had imagined what it would have been like to reach across a blanket over desert sand just off base and two flyboys looking at stars. Wouldn’t pull his heart closer to that breaking point that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to put back together again. 

Wouldn’t feel like a taunt of all the things he couldn’t have. 

When he came, it was shattering and soothing all at once, like he had nothing left to give emotionally or physically. The strong arms wrapped around his torso and holding him close as the other body leisurely chased it’s own completion said ‘I’m here’, and ‘you can fall, because I’ll catch you’, and ‘I wish we could have had that too’. They came down from the high, slowly, and already, Keith was racking his brain, trying to figure out what he did differently so he could get that result again, cause as much as breaking hurt it was so good…

“Stop that,” was muttered into his neck as Shiro pulled out, maneuvering them so Keith’s back was pressed against his chest, arm keeping him from running “don’t want you thinking again, least for ‘nother few hours…” 

Keith wanted to squirm, to at least protest enough to get clean, but the warm feeling was good, and it was easy to sink into the purring in the back of his head. He smiled at the nudge from Black, sending a silent agreement. A small spark of hope, relishing in the feeling of someone at his back.


End file.
